Captives
by 20-guilty-pleasures
Summary: It was honestly a miracle that she hadn't already gone insane. Trapped between four spotless white walls with only her frightened, infuriated mind and hellscape of recent memories for company... Still, the mountain men had something terrible coming to them if they thought that they could keep her captive forever... Post Season 1, T for language
1. First Attempt

Alright! this takes place right where Season 1 left off. I own nothing but the words below :)

* * *

It was honestly a miracle that she hadn't already gone insane. Trapped between four spotless white walls with only her frightened, infuriated mind and hellscape of recent memories for company. It had been three days and she had already taken a complete inventory of the things in her room at least a dozen times:

A White bed Bed. Her white IV. White drawers containing clothes – all exactly the same, all a pristine _white_. White curtain. White toilet. White sink. Metal trash can. White sofa. A white vent above her bed that _no_ amount of pushing or pulling could break through. The _stupid_ Vahn Gogh painting – at times it infuriated her and at others she loved it for containing colors other than white and grey. And, of course, the camera that was recording her every move.

She had found out about the hidden camera after her first escape attempt. She had broken the sink with the trash can, and the water had gushed out, gradually flooding the room and flowing under her doorway. Then, she had armed herself with a sharp edged shard from the sink bowl - smiling wolfishly as it nicked her and some of her red blood stained its white surface - and waited in a corner. After what felt like hours (she had no way of telling time, after all), she heard a cold, calm female voice coming from just outside her room: "Put down the weapon, inmate, and none of your friends will be harmed."

Clarke's heart began to pound: how did they know what she was holding? Would they... would they really hurt her friends?

Still, she had no intention of backing down so easily. She couldn't help her friends if she stayed a captive, and a crazy voice in her head compelled her to act violently rather than staying captive for a moment longer. She... she wasn't sure if she could _take_ life as a prisoner again. Before she could make a move, however, a very familiar orange smoke started to emerge from her vent in thick, menacing plumes.

She barely managed to let out a curse before the room before her eyes turned hazy, and she found herself falling down, down, _down_…

Clarke didn't remember hitting the floor. She woke up back in the white bed, exactly as she had the first time, and found her sink looking brand new, but her trash can gone.

Her second escape plan would have been to bolt during meal times – but the man who came to deliver meals wore full body armor, helmet included, and was about twice as large as her. At least the food he brought wasn't bad. It varied by day, and reminder her somewhat of how meals on the Arc had been before she got arrested. Still, most days she had to choke it down.

* * *

At 'night', her keepers dimmed the lights in her room. Clarke imagined (hoped) that there would be less people patrolling the halls during these times, because everyone would be sleeping. So, Clarke stayed wide awake during these periods, looking and listening for _any_ movement. What she discovered was that there were usually only two people who walked the halls at, both wearing full armor. One came shortly after lights out, and the second came by just before they came back on. Closer, obsessive, inspection led Clarke to believe that both guards were the same person: he had a habit of lifting the visor of his helmet to wipe his brow every now and then. She added this information to list of mental notes she had made for when she escaped.

In the mornings, she looked through her window into Monty's room, just to see how he was doing. From what she could see, though, he wasn't handling captivity well, becoming paler and paler by the day with bloodshot eyes. Finally, one morning she found him looking back through his window at her. There was an oddly intense urgency in his eyes, and he mouthed something to her. She motioned for him to repeat himself, and then managed to read his lips, "_We need to escape_."

A sudden wave of jarring realization crashed over Clarke – the same one that had undoubtedly hit Monty only moments before: the cameras were right above their doors: when they talked to each other through the glass, _their keepers couldn't see them_.

Clarke felt the pace of her heart begin to quicken: they had a _direct_ line of communication. How, _how_ had she not taken advantage of this before?

She nodded back at Monty, and mouthed clearly and slowly, "_We need a plan_."

Monty merely shrugged at her. Then, scratching his head, he replied, "_Start thinking_."

Despite not having a single reasonable idea, Clarke found herself grinning as she nodded at her friend. He had reminded her that she was not _nearly_ as alone as she felt. The rest of the surviving 100 had to be somewhere close by, and together, she had seen proven time and time again, they were stronger than _anything_.

* * *

"GET _OFF_ ME! _LET GO OF ME, DAMN YOU!_"

Clarke's eyes snapped open, and she leaped to her feet, bolting to her door.

She had been in the middle of one of her fitful naps, when she heard someone bellowing at the top of their lungs down the hall. Now, this was not _that_ unusual, for she heard the occasional shouting at least once a day… but not this voice. _This_ voice turned her blood to ice and caused her insides to do back-flips from horror and joy and _god_ knew what else, because she hadn't believed that she'd ever hear it again.

The scream left her lips before she fully realized what was happening. It was like the ground fell out from beneath her and the walls began closing in, crushing and _crushing_ her, while the air was slowly sucked from her lungs - she couldn't breathe. Clawing at and beating her arms and legs in vain against the unfeeling door that had been holding her captive for a week now, Clarke's hoarse, ferocious howl of a voice frightened even herself,

"_BELLAMY_!"

* * *

Hello everyone! So, if you're anything like me, waiting for season 2 is starting to drive you a little crazy by now :P

I wrote this to help tide myself over, and may continue if other people enjoy it too. Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Captured

Bellamy Blake was lucky to be alive. Still, it was damn hard to _feel_ lucky as he woke up in the freakish white room he was currently (involuntarily) residing in. He was wearing different clothes than he had been when he entered this room, and someone must have cleaned him up because for the first time in days, he couldn't feel a thin layer of grime coating him. Hell, someone had even washed his hair and cut his fingernails.

He started to sit up, and felt a shooting pain in his side, and another, lesser, pain in his head.

"Oh yeah…" he murmured, rubbing his temple as the memory of how he got these minor injuries came rushing back...

* * *

After the doors to the ship had closed, Bellamy had realized that it was time to do or die. Looking across the chaotic battlefield, he had managed to catch Finn's eye and shoot him a significant look, and the handsome boy had nodded in silent understanding.

Then, without needing any other warning, they both exploded into frantic action, fighting off the nearest grounders like animals. Bellamy remembered knifing and kicking the one closest to him until he gave way, then picking up a fallen spear and thrusting it through the gut of the only other grounder blocking his path of escape. After that, without even checking to see if the other boy had succeeded too, Bellamy had sprinted like a mad-man into the woods. He was a horse with blinders, racing forward and never looking back, but Bellamy had never _seriously_ believed that he'd survive. He knew how long the countdown was supposed to last, and heard it like a ticking time bomb in his head.

But he _did_ survive.

Every second of the way he imagined hearing the roar of the engines igniting behind him, the crackle of flames, and then he knew he'd feel the flames lick his heels before engulfing him whole... but he managed to finish the countdown in his head twice over before he finally heard the distant, muffled explosion. _Barbecued grounder._

The roaring went on and he kept on running, but then there was a pregnant pause in the noise. It was broken by the thundering thud of the ship landing once more, the beautiful sound echoing in Bellamy's ears. That was when he finally stopped running, and collapsed to his knees, heart slamming rather than beating, and panting like a dog. He was so _exhausted_, in every sense of the word, that he just wanted to collapse then and there. Instead, he thanked god for being alive, and forced himself to get back up again.

The only thing truly pressing on his mind as he trekked back to where the camp had been, was obtaining water. But then he heard it… a soft… _chopping_ noise. It came from the sky, and Bellamy looked up to see, "Helicopters?"

A small, irrational smile broke out on his face as he stopped to watch them fly. He smiled half in wonder at the fact that these things still existed, and half in wonder at the fact that he was somehow still breathing. Maybe, if he had been born in another time, it could have been _him_ piloting one of those marvels... but the smile quickly fell as he realized where they were headed. As always, there wasn't any time for joy now.

By the time he had arrived at the charred, corpse littered camp, there was no one left.

No one left alive.

No one to answer his desperate pleads for a response.

Bellamy didn't want to dwell on what that had felt like. In a word – _devastating_. Like waking up and realizing that you could no longer see, or even _move_. Trapped and alone in your own body, paralyzed with loss.

Luckily, this wasn't Bellamy's first time having his entire world fall apart.

He handled the heartbreak in the same manner he always did: he roughly shoved it aside to focus on moving forward: His first priority was to gather anything of use from the ship. He armed himself with a rifle, and massive bag containing as many rations and as much ammunition as he could comfortably carry, and a handheld radio. Bellamy had dropped his own radio somewhere during the fighting, and picked this one up more out of habit than hope. Still, he clicked onto the 100's frequency and clearly spoke, "Hello? Come in if you can hear me. This is Bellamy, is there _anyone_ out there who can hear me?... hello?"

Nothing but static greeted him in return, and it took a decent amount of willpower to refrain from chucking the damn thing into the woods.

Bellamy's first plan had been to head for Lincoln's cave, for the sizable grounder seemed capable of surviving just about _anything_, and that was the kind of person Bellamy needed right now. Not to mention the fact that Octavia would be with him...

Accordingly, he had been on his way to Lincoln's when he felt a sharp prick between his shoulder-blades. Craning his neck to inspect it, Bellamy cursed: there was some sort of dart sticking into his back. He yanked it out, and was surprised by how sophisticated it looked – like a needle from the Ark rather than an arrow. Then his vision began to get blurry…

* * *

... And he had woken up in the back of a van being driven up a neatly maintained mountain path by a person in full body armor. Bellamy was buckled into place between a window and another person – and that person, he realized with a jolt, was _Raven_. She was still passed out, but her breathing was strained and irregular. Yes, she was still in _very_ bad shape, and Bellamy was more than a little bit afraid for her, despite being relieved that the tough, brilliant girl was alive.

On her other side was another man in full armor. The man turned to Bellamy, who snapped his eyes shut again. Perhaps if they assumed he was asleep, he could use the element of surprise to attack them and break for freedom. Then again… did he _want_ freedom or the chance to see his people again? For surely if these people had a van and tranquilizer guns, they were the same people whose helicopters had stolen away his friends. Or at least, Bellamy _really_ hoped so.

He kept his eyes closed until he felt the van stop. The front door opened and the driver stepped out. Bellamy heard the guard beside Raven open his door as well, then begin unbuckling her seat-belt. The driver opened the door by Bellamy and unfastened his seat as well. It was a struggle, but Bellamy remained completely limp as the driver and another guard picked him up and started walking up a gentle incline. Being carried like this, with one guard holding him around the middle and the other holding his legs made Bellamy feel like he was already dead.

Unable to stand it for a moment longer, Bellamy carefully opened one eye and peered around through his lashes. He saw a large, modern looking building made of slate grey stone. The guards holding him stopped before one of many massive metal doorways, and Bellamy was wondering how they could possibly open the thing, when they answered his question for him.

There was a small scanner in the very centre of the entrance, which beeped when the guard holding Bellamy's legs presented it with a metal wristband. The other guard had one too, Bellamy noted with increasing excitement, though he forced his breathing to stay slow and even. These wristbands were his way in and out of this place.

As the door opened and they started to go inside, Bellamy tried his best to get a good look at everything around him without turning his head and alerting the guards. They were in a long hallway with a high ceiling and lined with doors, and it was all a clean white. It looked somewhat like an asylum, like the ones Bellamy had seen pictures of while on the Ark. at the time, he had thought of Octavia. Now he realized that captivity was a recurring theme in _all_ of the 100's lives.

Unlike the asylum pictures Bellamy had seen as a child, the rooms didn't seem to have anyone in them. In fact, aside from the guards carrying him, Bellamy didn't think there was another soul _in_ this cavernous building.

He could take on two people.

Bellamy took a silent, deep breath, then gave a violent twist in the guard's arms. The one holding his legs momentarily lost his grip, and Bellamy took advantage of this by wrestling one of his legs free and aiming a kick at the guards head. He heard a satisfying _crack_ as his foot hit the metal helmet and the man's head snapped back.

The other guard was trying to maintain his hold on Bellamy and keep his arms pinned to his side, and managed to do so despite Bellamy's struggling. Finally, Bellamy gave a jerk and managed to headbutt the guard in the shoulder – in retrospect, that had probably _not_ been the brightest move, because the guard was wearing rather thick shoulder-pads.

Still, it surprised the guard enough that he loosened his hold. Bellamy had been about to wrestle an arm free, when he felt a hard blow to his side – there was also a worrying cracking noise accompanying this, and a shooting pain that forced Bellamy to cry out. Bellamy looked up to see that the other guard had just rejoined the fight, so he kicked wildly with his legs to avoid being recaptured.

"GET _OFF_ ME! LET _GO_ OF ME, DAMN YOU!"

Just then, another guard appeared, as if from thin air, to help the other two out. This one was armed with a gun, and he aimed it at Bellamy's head.

The new guard spoke, and Bellamy was surprised to hear that it was a woman: "Stop struggling. Now."

Her voice was cold and clear, her accent was different than his, and Bellamy knew better than to disobey while she held that gun.

The new guard surprised him again by removing her helmet. Like Clarke, she was blonde, and she also had blue eyes… but where Clarke's eyes reminded Bellamy of how bright yet mystical the Earth looked from the Ark, this woman's eyes were a cold void. Her hair was immaculate, held in a bun as rigid as her hand holding the gun. She would not hesitate to shoot him if she had to.

Keeping the gun in her right hand trained on him, the woman approached. She bent her knees until she and Bellamy were at eye-level, and peered at him appraisingly. Those eyes felt like an x-ray, but Bellamy glared back with defiance.

Finally, she said, "You were the leader."

There was no judgement, it was just a fact stated. Bellamy didn't reply, only narrowed his dark eyes. She reached out with the gloved hand that wasn't holding the gun, and gently traced a line from Bellamy's cheekbone to his clenched jaw, her eye intently following her hand. Bellamy tried to read her face, knowing that there were gears rapidly turning behind her cool facade, but he honestly had no idea what she was thinking. Before he could ponder it any further, she abruptly straightened up again.

"Room 325." She said, addressing the guards now, rather than Bellamy. Her gaze lingered on him for just a moment more… and then the woman raised the gun again and shot him in the arm. Bellamy just had time to look down and see the dart sticking out of his bicep before he passed out once more.

* * *

First off, thanks for the lovely reviews! They were so encouraging, and I really appreciated the support.

So, I know that you probs weren't expecting a Bellamy POV, and TBH neither was I... but hey, that's how the chips decided to fall when I sat down to write! I hope y'all enjoyed it anyway :)


	3. Plans Involving Bellamy

Writing this story is so oddly addicting! There are just so many directions I want it to go in, before I tie erything together =]

Anyway, this is a fun chapter, and I hope you like it!

* * *

Helen didn't spend much time in the quarantine department's security room, but tonight was different. Now that Bellamy, the leader of the 100, was in their possession, she could _finally _start making progress with these children (she didn't care _how_ old they were, she had seen enough of their antics to realize that they could not yet be considered rational adults). Besides, although their required week long quarantine process was finally over, simply letting them all loose in the compound would be inviting chaos if they didn't have someone to lead them. Moreover, Helen needed someone who the 100 would listen to, someone who would help them to sympathize with the right cause.

At that, she sat up in her chair and leaned in to view the security screen before her, the one which showed footage from inside all of the quarantine rooms. Helen slowly zoomed in on room 325 and observed the dark haired man who was sound asleep inside. Even _unconscious_ he cut an imposing figure, though his soft curls were at odds with his chiseled features.

Bellamy. They would follow _him,_ that was for sure… but would he follow _her_?

If he was half as intelligent as she hoped he was, he _must_, Helen reasoned to herself. The facts were simple: there was very limited habitable space left on Earth, and there weren't nearly enough resources to last both civilized people _as well as_ the Reapers and the people the 100 called 'Grounders'. Besides, civilization had come too far to regress into their primeval, savage ways.

Purely for the sake of progress, they needed to be wiped out. It was as simple as that.

On the other hand, the 100 were cut of a different cloth: _they_ could be a valuable asset – especially considering how crushingly few of Helen's people were left. Besides, Helen had good reason to believe that more of their people were coming down from their station – possibly with technology and resources that could make the elimination of the others much faster and less painful. And better yet – they'd have the manpower to rebuild the great _cities_ of forgotten times. Yes, if Bellamy could convince his people to help her, perhaps humanity still stood a chance of becoming something _worthwhile_ again.

Just then, Helen's attention was caught by motion on the screen. It was coming from the room that belonged to the restless blonde girl who had attempted to break out three times already, and Helen let out an exhale of frustration. Why hadn't she just given up already? What was to be gained by futile struggle? Besides, it was was the middle of the night - the blonde had no reason to be awake and staring out of her window with iridescent blue eyes.

Even more disturbingly, this girl's reaction to hearing Bellamy's voice had been the most passionate outburst Helen had ever seen – thank _goodness_ the rooms were soundproofed, or the crazy thing would have distressed the entire floor…

Still, the outburst had helped Helen to remember who this girl was – the 100's _other_ leader. However, observation had told her that this girl was not the leader she needed right now. The blonde girl, Helen knew with absolute _certainty_, would be opposed to destroying the other people of Earth. She was gentle, not a wartime leader, and could pose a deep threat to Helen's plans if the other 100 listened to her...

Helen took a deep breath, telling herself to relax and worry about the girl when the need arose. She took a cursory look at some of the other room's screens - it _was_ what she was supposed to be doing after all - however, she soon found her gaze shifting back to the sleeping Bellamy Blake's room. She felt a sudden chill run down her spine as his intent, dark eyes snapped open and came into focus. For one, insane moment, it was like he was staring right at her, daring her to explain herself. Helen almost had to look away, self consciously smoothing back her hair into her already perfect bun and struggling hard to remember that he couldn't _actually_ see her watching him.

Bellamy tried to sit up and winced – and Helen knew why. The tranquilizer she had shot him with was supposed keep him knocked out until tomorrow morning, by which time the pain would have been significantly reduced. Watching him rip his IV out of his arm, looking as wide awake as a person could be, Helen realized that their sedatives were simply not as effective on him as they were on most.

For some reason, that didn't surprise her at all.

* * *

"I _disagree_, now put on a _shirt_, will you."

"Look, I _know_ you think that we'll run out of food before the Grounders kill us all, but I'm not so sure. Our rations stocks are higher than they've ever been, so I say more _training_, less hunting"

Clarke narrowed her eyes at the self proclaimed leader of the 100, and shook her head, "Look Bellamy, Our rations stocks _need_ to be bigger than they've ever been, because we don't know how long the winters are down here. Who _knows_ when our next opportunity to gather food will come after it starts? And put on a damn _shirt_!"

Bellamy massaged his temple and clenched his jaw with frustration, "Clarke. The grounders are _coming_ _for us_ and they're coming faster than winter is. As we are, we don't stand a _chance_, and you know that. We need more fighters."

"Ugh!" Clarke groaned, throwing her hands in the air, "You just aren't going to admit that I'm _right_, are you?"

She saw Bellamy open his mouth to protest, and cut him off, "Never mind, _forget_ I said that. We are _never_ going to agree on this… so let's just compromise. _Alright_? We'll have extra hunting patrols _and_ run more late night sessions so that everyone gets some basic combat training. And you'll put on a shirt."

At that, Bellamy had to laugh, "What's with you and my _shirt_, Princess? I just got back from some pretty intense training, and today is, _miraculously_, sunny and warm. Just let me be!"

Clarke rolled her eyes, "Oh _please_, Bellamy, don't make excuses."

"What do you – "

"_Face it_: You just like having all the girls at camp staring at your pretty abs."

Bellamy smirked and raised a dark eyebrow, "You think they're pretty? I'm touched."

But Clarke wasn't having any of that. Rolling her eyes, rather than dignifying him with a response, she only said, "_Please_. Now move out of my way, I've got other things to do."

"Do you really?"

"_Yes_!" She reached up to gently but forcibly shoved him out of her way, but Bellamy refused to move. This left her in the somewhat awkward position of having her hand on his bare shoulder.

The touch of his skin under her fingers and being able to feel the hard muscle underneath took Clarke somewhat by surprise. Well… if she was being _completely_ honest with herself, what surprised her was her sudden, _insane_, desire to push Bellamy back into his tent and run her hands up and down his perfectly toned torso. Hadn't she been furious with him only moments before?

The logical part of her brain told her that she was likely ovulating, and her hormones were out of whack, but the other part was already in the tent with Bellamy, and staring into his deep, dark almond-shaped eyes...

Physically incapable of making eye contact with her co-leader in real life, Clarke's voice came out about an octave too high as she finally managed to control herself enough to say, "Excuse me," and hurry away.

* * *

Clarke woke up feeling embarrassed, irritated, and completely ready to tell Bellamy off for being so _exasperating_ when they needed to focus- but then she took in her surroundings . For just a moment, she felt completely lost… then the usual disappointment and misery set in as she remembered how trapped she was.

That was when she remembered something that made her feel just the tiniest bit better: "Bellamy's alive…"

Whispering it aloud made it seem more true, somehow. No – she _knew_ that it was true. She _knew_ that it had been his voice: there couldn't be _two_ people who had that distinct throaty tone.

Closing her eyes, Clarke tried to bring back the scene from her dreams – it had been more than her imagination at work, it had been a _memory_, and so vivid that she had smelled the forest in the air. True, it wasn't the memory she would have selected to dream about if she could pick, but she chose not to dwell on the mysteries of how her subconscious worked.

Instead, she tried even harder to bring the dream back… but it had completely faded. She couldn't even call up Bellamy's face before her eyes properly.

She needed to see him again, to prove to herself that he was alive.

She needed him to help her round up the others, break out and find the Ark.

She needed to get the hell out of this room.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Review and you'll receive a free, virtual, shirtless Bellamy (or a cookie, if that's your preference =P)

Also, I'm thinking of doing weekly updates for this story, so check back next Sunday =]


	4. The Need to Try

Hello folks! Thanks for dropping by and enjoy the chapter =]

* * *

Monty was already awake and looking through his window by the time Clarke finished getting ready. She waved "Hello", and he returned the greeting with his usual smile.

"Any ideas?" he mouthed, as he always did. Clarke shook her head, and ran a hand through her hair – this had become their sign for frustration. Monty repeated the gesture back at her.

Cocking his head to one side, he proceeded to look at her more closely than he usually did. For a moment, Clarke wondered if she had something on her face, but then he answered her unasked query by mouthing, "You look _awful_."

"What?"

"You need to sleep." He punctuated this statement by folding his hands, resting his head on them, and momentarily closing his eyes.

Clarke rolled her eyes, an exaggerated motion that Monty would be able to see clearly from across the hall, then replied, "You don't look good either."

Monty raised an eyebrow, and mouthed, "I'm not." Then he proceeded to pretend to violently throw up, while Clarke sighed and shook her head at him, idly hoping that the camera in his room would catch enough of his antics that someone would come and check on him. Monty finished his performance by pretending to pass out completely, and Clarke wondered how he still had the energy to play around.

She looked up at her own camera and felt her own energy drain into empty hopelessness. "Let me out," Clarke found herself saying to it, "Please, _please_ just let me out."

Obviously, there was no response. Clarke stared into the pitiless thing, and wondered if anyone was even watching.

Feeling acutely alone, she glanced back over to Monty, and was surprised to see him frantically banging on the glass of his window to get her attention.

"What?" she asked, wondering what could possibly have gotten her friend so excited so quickly. _What was wrong_?

To her complete astonishment, however, Monty smiled at her.

"_What_?" Clarke repeated. She felt a warm excitement rising from her toes as Monty mouthed, "_Idea_". Then, he pointed up, saying, "Look". Clarke obeyed and only saw the ceiling: a grid of bright, white lights. They were not unlike the lights in certain sectors of the Ark, but Clarke didn't see how that was of any use.

She looked back at Monty and shrugged, and he mouthed another word, all the while staring at her intently, "Break!"

Break _what_? The ceiling?

Clarke looked up again. The panels holding the lights looked weak enough, and she could probably reach and break them by standing on her bed and wielding her IV pole… but what would _that_ accomplish? Unless Monty thought that she could break through to the floor above somehow – assuming there was one. Clarke _had_ heard noises coming from up there, but for all she knew, that could have been coming from the roof.

"We can get through." Monty mouthed, looking more excited by the second, "The ceiling is _weak_, we can get through."

The _plan_ was weak. Pathetically weak, but damn if Clarke wasn't going to give it everything she had. Swallowing hard, she nodded at Monty and mouthed, "Let's get out of here."

* * *

"I'm telling you, I heard him!" Octavia bellowed at Lincoln, who was clenching his hands into fists as he tried to keep his temper.

"Your people," he began slowly, "were taken by the _Mountain men_. They are lost to us now."

But Octavia shook her head, "No. I _heard_ my brother, Lincoln. Besides, if he wasn't here, then how do you explain this," she lifted the walkie talkie that she had found in the bracken and waved it in front of Lincoln's face."

"It could have been there for _weeks_, Octavia. Let it go."

Of course, Octavia was having none of that. She let out a groan of frustration and anger, "Look, I understand that Bellamy isn't your favourite person, and I can't blame you for resenting him, but I – "

"I don't resent him. He did what he believed he had to do."

"Then please," Octavia all but begged, "_Please_ help me find him. He gave up _everything_ for me, and… I can't let him go without doing every _goddamn_ thing I can to find him."

Lincoln gave the girl in front of him a long hard look. She had only just regained the ability to walk properly, and he had taken her out for some air when they both heard a faint voice in the distance, and then a soft _thud_. Octavia had been about to go running up to see what the matter was, when Lincoln heard another, more worrying sound – the low rumble of the Mountain Men's van.

Without another word, he had clapped a hand over Octavia's mouth and carried her back to his cave as quickly and silently as she'd let him. Fear allowed him to move more swiftly than he usually could, and some of it must have rubbed off on Octavia, because she didn't put up as much of a struggle as she normally would.

As soon as they were safe, however, she'd exploded at him, saying that as soon as the coast was clear, they _had_ to go back. She'd talked of nothing else since then, and Lincoln was starting to realize that he would have to give in.

"_Alright_," he finally acquiesced, "But if that voice was your brother, then it's all but certain that the Mountain Men have him, and I cannot storm their headquarters alone. _All_ of my people couldn't break through their defenses."

"It's not as if they would be willing to help us anyway." Octavia muttered, "Could we try sneaking in on our own?... I mean we -" She stopped talking abruptly, because Lincoln gestured for her to be quiet – he had heard a branch break from beneath someone's foot, and that someone was not ten feet behind him. In a sudden, fluid movement, he whirled around, poisoned knife at the ready, and growled, "Show yourself if you want to live."

Muscles tensed to throw the knife f he saw a Reaper or Mountain Man, Lincoln found himself surprised (not a common occurrence) to see that the person emerging from the trees with his hands up was neither. Instead, it was someone who had never thought he'd seen again: how was this boy still _alive_? Slowly, Lincoln relaxed his stance, but he didn't lower his weapon just yet.

Octavia, for her part, almost dropped the talkie she was holding as she saw who the approaching intruder was. He met her eye and almost smiled, looking more relieved than anyone she had ever seen,

"Hey guys, glad to see you're both alive," he called in greeting. Addressing Lincoln, he added, "Please don't stab me with that thing again."

At that, Octavia couldn't contain herself anymore: she ran up to him and gave him a great bear hug:

"_Finn_!"

He hugged her back, but only briefly because then he was letting go to ask Lincoln, "Before you heard me – did I overhear _you_ say that you know where the Mountain Men's headquarters are?"

Lincoln nodded slowly, not liking the look of desperation and hope he saw emerging in the teenagers' eyes.

His anxieties were realized when Finn exchanged a look with Octavia, and asked, "_Well_? Then what are we waiting for? Let's gather the grounders and _storm_ the place!"

"And how are you planning on getting my people to help us?" Lincoln asked, wondering how the boy could still be so optimistic after all he had seen.

Finn, however, did not seem the least bit daunted. "Didn't you lose your leader too? Anya? I overheard some other grounders talking about it while I was scouting out the remains of the camp. They were there looking for her– and found one of her weapons aboard the ship, completely unharmed."

"So what?"

"So _what_?" Finn asked, incredulous, "Won't your people try to rescue her?"

"No." Lincoln replied calmly, "The risk outweighs the benefit. It wouldn't be the most rational course of action here."

Finn threw his hands in the air, "_Rational_? But…" he trailed off, trying to contain himself, and Octavia took the chance to say, "How about this – if your people help ours to escape, we could all take on the Mountain Men _together_. Eliminate the third party, enemy of my enemy and all that. Plus you'd get your leader back – think of it as finally making peace."

Her arguments were only slightly less flimsy than Finn's, but Lincoln had to admit that a world without the Mountain Men as a threat would be a better one. Seeing that Lincoln was at least considering the plan now, Finn looked at him pleadingly, "Come on, we have to at least _try_."

The boy's large brown eyes had always reminded Lincoln of a wolf pup, or a deer. Lincoln turned his gaze to Octavia, and she was giving him a similar look, "Lincoln, _please_. He's my big brother – not to mention the rest of them. You _said_ you wanted to help us."

Clenching his jaw, Lincoln met Octavia's gaze and wondered if he'd ever be able to refuse her anything. Probably not – his love for her ran far too deeply, throwing even his cherished rational thought into the woods.

"_Alright_. We'll try talking to them– but only if you two promise to do whatever I tell you to,_ no matter what_."

Octavia nodded instantly, "Agreed." When Finn hesitated, she shot him a look, and he raised his hands in surrender, "_Fine_. Now let's go – I remember the way to the Grounder Camp better than I remember my own mother."


	5. Bellamy Resting

Because I couldn't resist: there's fluff ahead! But plot advancement is coming too, I promise =)

* * *

"Hey Bellamy!" Clarke called as she came over from the campfire where most of the 100 were drinking and reveling in the wonder that was Monty's unity juice. Her cheeks were a rosy pink and her eyes shone lively and bright. Bellamy was suddenly reminded of just how young she really was, and resolved to try and give her more oppourtunities to enjoy being young while she still could.

Swaying slightly as she walked, she practically stumbled into him. Bellamy caught her and righted her, all the while trying his best not to laugh at the state she was in, "What's going on, Clarke?" he asked with a small smirk. He carefully leaned his gun against the outer wall post he was stationed at, then turned to give the blonde girl his full attention.

However, she only shrugged, "Nothing's going on, really…." Here she trailed off and looked down at her boots, as if shy.

Was something wrong?

"Clarke, why did you come over here then?" Bellamy prodded, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

She shrugged again, "It's nothing, I just…" her gentle blue gaze flickered up to meet his, then dropped back down again. Bellamy could feel his patience coming to an end as she fell silent, then he asked (rather more forcefully than he meant to), "_Yes_?"

"Well Bellamy Blake," she finally said, "I was just wondering if I could touch your hair."

Whatever he had been expecting, that certainly hadn't been it.

"_What_?"

Bellamy absentmindedly pushed some of said hair out of his eyes, and Clarke gave a great sigh. Then she explained: "You see, I've always _wanted_ to touch it, but didn't know how to ask."

"_Why_?"

"Well, you know, you're pretty intimidating on a _good_ day, and if I asked you about your _hair_ the wrong way – "

"No," Bellamy broke in, feeling slightly dazed by his confusion, "_Why_ did you _want_ _to touch my hair_?"

Clarke's blue eyes went wide as she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world: "Because it's _wonderful_!" Her voice was somewhere between adoration and wistfulness, and a large part of Bellamy was suddenly wondering if this was some sort of bizarre dream, because it couldn't possibly _actually_ be happening. The other part of him was blushing profusely:

He didn't think he'd ever heard Clarke Griffin describe _anything_ as wonderful before.

"Wonderful." He finally stated tonelessly.

"Yup!" Clarke affirmed cheerfully, "It's all thick, dark, and messy-curly… it's _so cute_!"

Bellamy wasn't exactly sure how he felt about being called cute. Had it been anyone else, he probably wouldn't have let it slide… but coming from adorable, tipsy, giggle Clarke? Well, he sort of liked it.

"So, can I touch it then?"

She looked up at him with wide, pleading blue eyes, and something inside Bellamy melted. Oh, what the hell: "Sure, you can touch my hair if you want to."

Clarke practically squealed with excitement, before reaching up and burying her fingers in his dark locks. It was at that point that Bellamy realized how long it had been since someone stroked his hair – it felt marvelous. He found himself smiling broadly at Clarke, who looked so innocent and sweet as she gleefully played with his curls that he wished he could take her far away from all of this to somewhere she could have a normal, less terrifying life.

In a sudden movement, Clarke broke his train of thought by roughly yanking Bellamy's head down and leaning up for a kiss. It was clumsy, wet and all too brief, but Bellamy truly felt his heart completely –

\- And when it restarted, it was pounding right out of his chest.

Looking down at Clarke, he saw that she was beaming at him again.

"What was that for?" Bellamy hoped she couldn't hear how breathless he was, but her impish grin told him otherwise.

"That," she announced grandly, flourishing one hand in the air, "Was a dare."

Working hard to keep his temper in check, Bellamy glanced back towards the other drunken teenagers by the fire. Sure enough, a good crowd of them were staring over at the pair of them, some giggling, but most merely looking stunned.

Bringing his gaze back to the infuriating blonde standing before him, Bellamy's voice came out in a low growl, "You were dared to _kiss _me?"

"_Nope_!" She shook her head, and started making her way back to the fire. Once she was a good two feet away from the deeply confused brunette, she looked over her shoulder and called, "_Actually_, I was only dared to touch your hair."

* * *

"Wake up. You're coming with me."

"_Huh_?..."

* * *

They weren't releasing him, that was for sure, but a guard _had_ come to Bellamy's room that morning, completely _ruined_ the first decent rest he'd had in months (drug induced and full of memories that were too nice to think about whilst awake, it was true, but still… _rest_), handcuffed him and collared him, and led him like a dog back down the hallway he had entered from.

"I guess there's no point asking you where the hell we're going." Bellamy quipped, glaring into the dark glass that masked the guard's eyes. Naturally, the guard didn't reply.

"You're a real wanker, aren't you?" Bellamy tried again. When that didn't get a rise out of the guard, he tried spitting at him. Still nothing.

So, they continued to walk in silence until they reached the end of the entrance hallway– Bellamy was not two feet away from the door he'd entered the facility form, and for one mad moment, wondered if he really _was_ being released after all. That was when the guard turned and pressed a button on the side wall, and a door that Bellamy hadn't even _noticed_ before, opened . It had been designed to camouflage perfectly with the surrounding wall, and Bellamy made a mental note to look for doors like these later on, when he was escaping this freakish place – because he _was_ going to escape from here. He knew it as a certainty, just like he knew that Clarke and the others were also in here somewhere. It was a gut feeling, but he had learned over time to trust them.

As it turned out, behind the hidden door the guard had opened, there was an elevator, which the guard used to take Bellamy up to the second floor. Bellamy counted three elevator buttons: three floors. Second floor, main and a basement.

On the second floor, there were far less doors than the lower floor, and the rooms looked less secure as well: fewer locks and thinner glass in door windows. Peering into the rooms they passed revealed that this was probably where the guards quarters were. Bellamy saw a lounge, several large store rooms, and what looked like a medical facility. They kept on walking until they reached room which looked, Bellamy realized as they entered, rather like the lounges or recreational spaces for higher class members of the Ark. The realm of princes and princesses.

The color scheme here was grey, but the grey was less pervasive and less harshly enforced than the rigid white color scheme downstairs. Yes, the couches, floor and walls were grey, but the low tables were of a rich brown wood, as were the few bookshelves, and a soft blue rug filled the centre of the room. Off to the side there was even a kitchenette and an expensive looking pool table – the kind with claw-foot legs and green velvet.

The guard gestured for Bellamy to sit, but he refused, saying, "Not until you get rid of this dog collar and leash you've got on me. Taking off the handcuffs would be nice to, while we're on the subject."

The guard silently shook his head, and Bellamy threw a kick at the leg of the nearest table in frustration.

Then he almost jumped as a soft, female voice coming from somewhere behind him said, "Go on, George, you may as well get rid of the leash: we'll keep that collar on to ensure… good behavior."

The guard obediently un-clipped and removed the leash he'd been using to lead Bellamy, but Bellamy didn't feel even the slightest bit better: what had the voice meant by "good behavior?" What kind of collar _was_ this? He reached up to feel it again, and could detect nothing but smooth metal beneath his fingertips. Did it administer some sort of shock? Tighten itself?

"Relax, Bellamy," the female voice continued, sounding unnervingly close, "Why don't you sit down? Get comfortable."

Slowly turning around, Bellamy saw that the speaker was the blonde woman who had shot him, and she was calmly sitting in an armchair by the door. Her hair was loose now, but still perfectly straight, and she was wearing a white blouse and grey skirt. Her expression was almost… amiable, but that only unnerved Bellamy more.

She stood and approached him, then gestured again for him to sit on the sofa behind him. He apprehensively did so, never taking his eyes off her, and she sat down in the chair opposite him.

"Alright then," she began, "Let's talk business, shall we?"


	6. Phase One

Lying in bed with her heart pounding audibly, Clarke said a silent prayer to whomever happened to be listening, begging for this plan to work.

Lights out had happened about an hour ago, and the first guard had already patrolled the hallway - he would not be back until the lights were about to switch back on. Still, she had wanted to wait just a little bit longer, so that the guard was good and far away before she and Monty made their move.

"Ten," she whispered softly, "Nine…"

"Eight." She took a deep breath, she needed to focus, "Seven."

"Six." Clarke swept the white blanket off of herself, "Five," she sat up and put her feet on the cold, tiled floor, "Four."

Clarke got to her feet and took another long breath. Then, omitting the rest of the countdown, she got up and walked to her door, peering out the window. Monty was already standing and looking back at her.

"_Ready_?" she mouthed clearly.

Monty's reply was a wink and a thumbs up. Clarke was so grateful for his optimism – she would never have made it this far with her sanity without him.

She nodded in reply, then turned away. One final deep breath…. then she was moving.

She crept to the IV and disconnected the bag from the pole, ensuring that she was blocking her actions from the camera. Then, gripping the pole tightly, she spun around, walked to the door and slammed it against the camera screen, again and again until she was sure that it had been rendered completely useless. Thankfully it cracked, which was more than the thick glass of her door had done when she'd tried breaking _it_ with the IV pole.

Clarke knew that there was limited time now, before someone came to investigate her broken camera, so she tried to move even faster – desperation lending her strength that she would not normally posess.

She pushed her large, white couch up to her bed, then struggled to get it up on top of her matress. Standing on top of the couch and ma tress, she could just reach the ceiling with her arms stretched above her head – this was a good thing.

Fetching the IV pole again, Clarke stood up on the couch and looked up for a good part of the ceiling to try and break through. Then, with an almighty _CRACK_!, she thrust the IV pole up at the centre of the nearest panel of ceiling, and it broke through almost too easily. Clarke ducked her head as shards of glass, debris and dust rained down on her, the looked up to peer through the hole she'd made.

Her eyes were adjusted to the dark, but it still took her a moment to see that she had broken through to a small crawlspace above the ceiling.

It was almost too perfect to be true.

Clarke struck the ceiling again, over and over again but methodically, until the space in the panel was large enough for her to comfortably crawl through. This she did by jumping up and hooking a hand over one of the large crossbars of the grid holding the panels of her ceiling in place. It held her weight, so she used it to hoist herself up into the crawlspace.

It was only tall enough in the space for her to be on her hands and knees, and she had to be careful to put her weight on the crossbars and not the panels, as she wasn't sure if they could hold her weight.

She took a moment here to peer down into the room that had been her prison for the past week and a half. "Good riddance."

Looking up again to take in her new surroundings, Clarke realized that her crawlspace was narrow and long: it likely ran over all of the rooms on her side of the hallway. A thick plastic wall, however, barred her from where the crawlspace above Monty's side of the hall would be, and the same material was behind and above her.

Had she broken out of her room only to be trapped here?

Realizing that there was nothing else to be done, Clarke sighed and began crawling down the hallway. She had been going for a while, almost blind in the dark and mind numbed by the lack of change in scenery, when her crawling hand in front of her which was reaching for the next crossbar met only open air. Clarke lost her balance and fell forward, then almost screamed as she saw what lay before her: a great chasm of darkness that went down, down, down…

Throwing her weight back into her hip, Clarke was barely able to prevent herself from falling into it. Her heart was racing as she sat back onto her heels and breathed deeply.

"It's ok," she murmured to herself, needing to hear some voice of comfort even if it was only her own, "It's alright."

Once she had calmed down enough, she looked back down into the chasm, wondering what it could be for. That was when Clarke heard a soft _whooshing_ noise coming from above: a large metal box that filled the entire chasm was coming down at her, and _fast_. She barely managed to get her head out of the way before it stopped in front of her, inches from her nose.

It only stopped for a second though, because then it was continuing down even further.

"An elevator?"

As it went down, Clarke noticed something on top of it that gave her an idea: it looked like an escape hatch of some sort, and it could be opened from outside of the elevator using a large handle. Here, at last, was her way out of this place.

She waited, counting seconds until five minutes had passed and the elevator had not moved. Odds were that whomever had been inside the elevator had come out, and no one had replaced them. This meant that the elevator was probably empty…

Clarke looked down at it again – the drop was only what, ten feet? A measly five if she clambered over the side of the ledge she was on, held on to it with her hands and fell from hanging. In any case, she knew that she had to at least try.

So she slowly climbed over the side of the ledge feet first, until she was hanging in she shaft. It was terrifying, suspended over a dark abyss and steeling herself for impact when she let go – and then she did. And it was over quickly, but when she made contact with the elevator, it complained with a ringing _CLANG_ that she was sure could be heard by anyone even remotely close to the thing.

She had to act fast.

She stood up and was pleased to find that nothing felt injured, and proceeded to try and pull over the emergency hatch. But it didn't move.

"No!" Clarke found herself murmuring softly, because she wasn't sure if there was another way out of here. Her heart rate began to increase with growing panic. She tugged on the handle to the hatch a little bit harder and harder, and the world started to blur before her eyes a bit as her panic level elevated even further.

That was when the rational side of her brain noticed that there was a little lock switch on the side of the hatch. Cursing herself for being so stupid and freaking out without cause, she flipped the switch and tugged on the handle to the hatch. It swung open with a low creaking noise, and Clarke looked inside the elevator, completely prepared to take out anyone who happened to be inside. Thankfully, it was empty.

Clarke dropped down into the little metal box, and for a moment, was reminded almost unbearably of the Ark – the elevator reminded her of her old home. Her old life. It surprised Clarke how easily her thoughts could be swayed by the smallest of things, and she brought herself back to reality, pressing the button for the second floor: that was where she figured the guards and their supplies were. Her current plan, rough as it was, was to procure a guards uniform, or at least, one of their wristbands that opened the doors.

It was a stretch, but at least phase one was now complete.

* * *

So, Clarke's finally making some progress! Also: season 2 premiere!


	7. Negotiations

The closer they got to the Grounder camp, the worse their plan seemed to become. Octavia kept on replaying the horrible sounds of the Grounder barbecue in her mind: the roaring fire, the screaming, the _pain_… if she was a Grounder, she sure as hell wouldn't be interested in helping to rescue the missing teenagers from the Mountain Men. But, for better or worse, Octavia trusted Finn. He had a good, if reckless, heart, and he _had_ thought to buy the 100 some time by distracting the Grounders with the Reapers.

The _Reapers_. Octavia let out a harried sigh at the thought of them, and how they were yet _another_ threat that her people would have to deal with. Feeling acutely exhausted, _and_ because her injured leg was starting to act up again, Octavia turned to Lincoln to ask, "How much further do we have to – "

But she was cut off by him suddenly grabbing her arm and yanking her down face-first in the fallen leaves and dirt of the forest floor. Octavia felt the breeze of a whizzing arrow just above her head as she fell, and her heart began to pound. "Dammit!, Lincoln hissed beside her, "They don't usually have scouts this far out."

Finn, however, didn't hit the ground. Instead, he dropped the knife he was holding and put his hands high in the air, calling out, "Hello? We come in peace: we just want to talk. _Hello_?"

There was a low thud, as a distant grounder archer jumped from his spot low in the trees to the ground. He stood up and aimed an arrow at Finn's chest, but instead of firing, he let out a low whistle, and waited. There was a rush of sounds then: other thuds and rustles in the trees, and within minutes, the trio was completely surrounded by Grounder scouts.

The one who had whistled seemed to be in charge of this band of Grounders, and he gestured for them to close in on Lincoln, Octavia and Finn. Octavia's felt a blood rush to her temples, adrenaline coursing through her veins and her instinct told her to _run..._ as if he could read her mind, Lincoln took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze.

The head Grounder's features were marred by coal black face paint, but his dark eyes shone clear and full of hatred, as he watched them. Lincoln was still gripping his knife in his spare hand, and Octavia had a sword slung on her back, but that didn't matter: arrows traveled faster than blades.

The Grounder turned his glare back to Finn, and spoke in a low, menacing growl, "How can you talk of peace after everything you've done, S_kyman_?"

"Because this has to stop," Finn answered, meeting the Grounder's gaze, "We can't go on like this."

"You're right, " the Grounder replied evenly, "We should just end this and kill you." He pulled back a little harder on his bowstring, closed one eye to aim, but then Finn exclaimed, "_No_! Just, just here us out first, alright?"

The Grounder didn't move, but after a moment of silent deliberation, he answered, "Fine. Give me one good reason why we shouldn't kill you all right now."

"How about because if you kill us, then our people will come _here_ and kill _you?_" Finn answered without hesitation, "You saw our bombs, our guns… we have twice the amount of firepower now that our reinforcements came from the sky."

"Then why aren't they here with you?" the Grounder asked with a cruel smile, "Why aren't they already blowing our homes apart?"

"_Look_," Finn said, dropping his hands to his side, "I know that horrible things have happened since we came down her, but we don't _want_ a war. We never _did_! But now, I think we're going to have to fight – but not against you."

"What are you talking about?"

"We want to work _with_ you," Finn announced, turning to meet the eyes of the Grounder warriors around him, "to take out the Mountain Men."

At that, there was a flash of even deeper loathing in the Grounder's eye. He glanced from Finn to Lincoln and back, "What do _you_ know of the Mountain Men?"

"Only that they took our people, "Octavia broke in, "And that they've been attacking yours."

"Why don't they use their '_firepower_' to fight the Mountain Men?" another Grounder called out, and the head Grounder nodded, "I'd like to know the answer to that as well."

"Our people just got here yesterday," Finn replied easily, "They need time to adjust to being on the ground, and they want to ensure that they are safe from _your_ people before they even _consider_ going after our friends. But I don't think that there is any time to spare – not if we want to find them alive."

Octavia swallowed, and tried to keep her expression neutral. It wasn't hard, because Finn's lie was a good one…. Mostly because she suspected that it wouldn't be far from the truth if they _had_ met up with survivors from the Ark. Octavia knew better than _anyone_ how harmful the rules and regulations of their old home had been.

The leader regarded Finn more closely now, weighing his answer in his mind. Finally, he nodded his head, "I believe you."

Octavia could hardly believe her ears, and almost smiled… and then the Grounder added, "But we are _not_ going to help you fight the Mountain Men."

Finn's brown eyes went wide, "_What_?"

The head Grounder laughed, "Why would I risk _my_ people's lives to help your people, after you massacred us? I'm sorry, but we couldn't care less about your problems. Just be thankful we haven't killed _you_ yet, boy."

"But what about your _leader_, _Anya_? The Mountain Men have her too, right? Don't you want to get her back?"

The Grounder clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his bow, "Of _course_ we do, but we would not risk a hundred more lives to save one."

"But what about making peace? What about – "

"If you still want _peace_ after all you've done," the Grounder cut in, "You're going to have to earn it. Take out the Mountain Men. Bring Anya back. Ensure that you're 'reinforcements' keep their firepower aimed at the Mountain Men and Reapers instead of at us. Then, _maybe_ we'll consider it," He stopped and looked up to his troops, "Move out."

And apparently that was to be the final word on the subject, because in less than a minute there wasn't a single Grounder remaining in sight. Octavia released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and Lincoln eyed Finn with newfound respect, "That was well handled."

Finn only hung his head, "What do you mean: they're _not_ helping us."

"But they won't hurt us either," Octavia added, putting a hand on Finn's shoulder to comfort him. He startled her by shaking it off, then staring at her, eyes blazing, "Don't give me that, Octavia: they were our _only hope_. How the _hell_ are we supposed to rescue the others now?"

"We just have to - "

"I wasn't _kidding_ when I said that we're running out of time. Raven _needs help_, now. I can't just abandon her – did you _see_ how weak she was? I've never seen her look so helpless, and I…"

But Octavia was no longer listening, "Finn, that's _it_!"

Finn and Lincoln froze, then shot her questioning glances, so she explained, "_Raven_!"

"What are you – "

"The last time the Mountain Men came for us, they came because of Raven's ring of fire. I say we give them another explosion."

"Why?"

"It's like you said, Finn – we'll never be able to take on the Mountain Men on our own – so let's _draw them out_ with a bomb, right into a _trap_ – sneak into their compound, set our friends free and _then_ take them on."

Lincoln let out another exasperated sigh, "Are you _insane_?", but Finn frowned, thinking it over. He couldn't give up on his people, on _Raven_ who had never given up on him. Finally, he nodded in agreement, "I'd do more for them, and worse."

He turned to Lincoln with Octavia, waiting for his approval, and the Grounder - despite looking greatly displeased - inclined his head, "So how do we go about building this bomb?"

* * *

"I'm sorry, but you've got the wrong guy: I _wasn't_ the leader. That was Clarke."

Helen let out a light laugh, "The girl? I hardly think so – I never heard anybody chanting _her_ name at that camp, Bellamy."

Bellamy had to struggle to refrain from snorting as he said, "_Chanting_? You don't actually know anything about leading, do you?"

He was bold. Helen's smile slipped just the tiniest bit, "What if I said that I'll kill one of your people for every day that you don't cooperate?"

The look he gave her then was more than deadly: she felt a chill run up her spine and was thankful for the guard standing by to protect her, even if Bellamy was wearing an obedience collar and handcuffed to his seat.

"Look," he said slowly, "You can kill whoever you want to – Grounders, my people, _me_ – but you will _not_ make me responsible for the massacre of an entire population. I've done some shit I'm not proud of, and I'll probably do worse in the future, but I won't do _this_. I'll kill _myself_ first, bitch, and that's a promise."

Helen felt her temples start to pulse, and curled her hands into fists. She took a deep breath, closing her laser-like blue eyes, then popped them open again. She smiled calmly, "What about your sister?"

Bellamy visibly winced, "What about her?"

Helen broadened her smile, knowing that she had touched a nerve, "Would you cooperate with us to keep Octavia from harm?"

She expected to see fear cross Bellamy's angular features, for those brown eyes to widen in panic, but he only intensified the glare he was giving her. "Good luck with that," he finally replied, "Because Octavia's _dead_."

_What?_

Helen tried her best to look unfazed as she raised an eyebrow and said, "I wouldn't be so sure about that, if I were you."

Bellamy only continued to glare at her, and it made her skin crawl. Unable to stand any more, Helen stood up and collected her tablet.

"I'll be back to talk tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening."

She waved goodbye, and turned to leave, but not before she saw Bellamy flip the bird at her out the corner of her eye. She spun around and regarded him coldly. His eyes blazed bright but dark, jaw was clenched - poised for a fight, while trying to get a rise out of her and find weakness. She knew all of this this because he was, she believed, a reflection of herself, and she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of breaking her composure. Instead, she addressed the guard, "Level three. Thirty seconds."

Bellamy's brow furrowed with confusion, but only for a split second, because then the guard was pressing a button on his control bracelet and Bellamy let out a shout of agony. Electric shock, not enough to cause permanent damage, but enough to make even the strongest men cry from the pain, and then become docile.

Sometimes, it was even enough to make a man pass out. Helen didn't stay in the room long enough to see if that would be the case for Bellamy Blake.

* * *

Happy Halloween!


End file.
